If he could only have appropriated Dock’s brain along with his medicines, he might have been in camp by now, ministering to Patsy before it was too late to do anything.  Without a doubt the boys were scanning anxiously the ridge, confident that he would not fail them though impatient for his coming.  And here he sat helplessly upon a hilltop under the stars, many miles from camp, with much medicine just under his knee and a pocket crammed with an unknown, healing herb, as useless after all his effort as he had been in camp when they could not find the Three-H liniment.

Glory turned his head and regarded him gravely out of eyes near human in their questioning, and Weary laid caressing hand upon his silvery mane, grateful for the sense of companionship which it gave.

“You’re sure a wise little nag.” he said wistfully, and his voice sounded strange in the great silence.  “Maybe you can find ’em—­and it you can, I’ll sure be grateful; you can paw the stars out uh high heaven and I won’t take my quirt off my saddle-horn; hope I may die if I do!”

Glory stamped one white hoof and pointed both ears straight forward, threw up his head and whinnied a shrill question into the night.  Weary hopefully urged him with his knees.  Glory challenged once again and struck out eagerly, galloping lightly in spite of the miles he had covered.  Far back on the bench-land came faint answer to his call, and Weary laughed from sheer relief.  By the stars the night was yet young, and he grew hopeful—­almost complacent.

Glory planted both forefeet deep in the prairie sod and skidded on the brink of a deep cut-bank.  It was a close shave, such as comes often to those who ride the range by night.  Weary looked down into blackness and then across into gloom.  The place was too deep and sheer to ride into, and too wide to jump; clearly, they must go around it.

Going around a gulley is not always the simple thing it sounds, especially when one is not sure as to the direction it takes.  To find the head under such conditions requires time.

Weary thought he knew the place and turned north secure in the belief that the gulley ran south into the coulee he had that evening fruitlessly explored.  As a matter of fact it opened into a coulee north of them, and in that direction it grew always deeper and more impassable even by daylight.

On a dark night, with only the stars to guide one and to accentuate the darkness, such a discovery brings with it confusion of locality.  Weary drew up when he could go no farther without plunging headlong into blackness, and mentally sketched a map of that particular portion of the globe and tried to find in it a place where the gulch might consistently lie.  After a minute he gave over the attempt and admitted to himself that, according to his mental map, it could not consistently lie anywhere at all.  Even Glory seemed to have lost interest in the quest and stood listlessly with his head down.  His attitude irritated Weary very much.